


Fully Loaded

by toothpastiel



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toothpastiel/pseuds/toothpastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's great being a girl genius, but what about being a girl genius descended from Tony Stark?</p><p>Set along the plot line of The Avengers Movie with slight deviations aayee</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Imported Pizza and Dramatically Staring Off Into The Distance

“Well, I want a test done, Helen.”  
Pause.  
“No, I can’t just take your word for it, considering how I’m freaking Iron Man, and frankly, I’m surprised nobody’s tried this before!”  
Pause.  
“No, I- look, I’m not saying you’re lying, I’m saying I’d be more comfortable if I knew. As in, scientifically. I can’t go gallivanting around with a kid under my arm all the time, now can I? At least, not one that’s not even mine.”  
Pause.  
“Alright. Thank you, Helen. Yeah, I’ve got like six guest rooms, okay? She can stay here. For now.”  
Pause and click.  
“Hey, shortstack.” I pop my head in the doorway, not bothering to act like I wasn’t listening. “Your mom and I agree, you should stay here. For now. With me. Yeah.” Tony Stark runs a hand through his hair, betraying his nervousness.  
“Okay,” I shrug.  
“Yeah, okay.”  
Pause.  
Tony realizes I’m still standing in his bedroom doorway, lost. “JARVIS,” he calls out.  
“Yes, sir?” Comes the slightly unnerving british voice.  
“Give her directions, would you? I’ve, uh, gotta make some calls- a call.”  
“Which room, sir?”  
Stark pauses, then smiles that infamous Stark smile. “Give her a view.”

It’s actually kind of fun to be lead around a giant tower by an automated, glorified nanny. Especially when said nanny doesn’t have an form of embodiment, therefore no power to stop me whenever I get curious.  
“Take a left up here- left, LEFT, no, don’t go- please, miss, you shouldn’t be- oh, dear.”  
“Have a sense of adventure,” I laugh giddily, rounding another bend.  
“At this point, it’ll be an adventure novel once we get to your room.”  
“If,” I taunt.  
God, Stark Tower. It’s even more amazing- and definitely prettier- on the inside. Somewhere on what must roughly be the middle floors of the tower, I stumble across the kitchen. The kitchen. It’s amazing. Stainless steel everything, marble countertops, the works. But my eye falls most heavily upon the gleaming gem claiming center stage on the mahogany table on the other side of the counters. How the hell do you get pizza from Chicago in New York? Gingerly, I lift the cardboard top. Instantly, the smell of rich cheeses and perfectly done meats invades my senses. I welcome the intrusion, scanning the cupboards to try and figure out which one most likely holds the plates.  
I try the one next to the fridge first, but only come up with bowls. The one above the stove teems with spices. It’s when I open the cupboard above the sink that I’m graced with a choice of china or paper. I grab two paper plates stuck together, so all my evidence will be disposable.  
This time I throw the top of the pizza box all the way back, unveiling the true glory that is pepperoni and pineapple. “Jeez, we must be related,” I laugh to myself, softly. I don’t know how observant Jarvis is, or if he’ll rat me out.  
Only two slices have been taken, so i take three, leaving three behind. Noticeable; yes. Blameable; no. The only flaw; I still need Jarvis to tell me where my room is.  
“Hey, Jarvis.”  
“Why are we whispering, miss?” Something tells me you know why, buddy.  
“No reason,” I say instead. “How ‘bout that room-with-a-view?”  
“Oh, now you want to go to your room. Hiding, I presume?”  
“Noo,” I grin. “Just, y’know, tired.” I fake a yawn.  
Obviously Jarvis isn’t buying it, but I guess artificial intelligences have the capacity to be amused. “To the left, then, miss.”  
I guess artificial intelligences also have the capacity to exact revenge. I’m lead around for a good half hour, with comments from Jarvis such as “Oh, dear, I was looking at the wrong portion of the blueprints. Wrong way!” Or, my favorite, “I just want to give you time to eat, miss, pizza stains are not only a complete giveaway but a pain to wash out.”  
“I knew you knew,” I mumble.  
“Of course I knew, miss,” Jarvis retorts coolly.”I am this tower, after all.”  
Y’know what else is a pain? Computers with ‘tude.

Stark is waiting for me in my room by the time I finally get there. “Took you long enough, what were you two up to?” He asks with mock seriousness.  
“A bit of adventure, sir,” Jarvis replies. I hold back a giggle, sliding my empty plate behind my back. Stark eyes my clasped hands with a raised eyebrow, turning to a wall that is completely glass.  
“Mmmhm.”  
After a longer pause than what would be considered comfortable, I clear my throat. Stark half-turns from the window. He motions me over with a sweep of his arm. Standing next to him, I realize I am sort of short. Not bad, Munchkinland short, but I do meet his shoulder exactly. Being short next to Tony Stark feels like standing next to Shaquille O'Neal or something. Must be his ego, things like that tend to add a few inches.  
We stand like that for awhile, both seemingly taking in the view, but in reality looking at nothing in particular. The view from here is pretty great, I will admit. New York is sprawled out before me, the cars simply ants and the people simply invisible.  
“So Iron Man might be my dad.” I look at his face in the window, watch his reflection. Stark makes a face like he’s mildly impressed. “That must be neat-o.”  
“Why didn’t this come up before now? I mean, I’ve been dadless for seventeen years.”  
“Maybe she wants him to pay for your college degree.” Stark looks over at Real Me instead of Reflection Me, smiling mischievously.  
“Well, he might have to make up for missing out on my sweet sixteen then,” I fake seriousness, much like he did when I finally showed up.  
“What is with teens these days, I mean they are obsessed with getting cool, trendy cars for birthdays and then seemingly even more obsessed with speeding, drag racing, drunk driving, and crashing.”  
“Current events alone states that you’ve done all of the above, Mr. Stark.”  
He huffs a laugh, looking back out at the night.  
“Yeah, well, I have a lot of cool, trendy cars.”

Eventually, Stark leaves, after talking me through- rather speedily- all of Jarvis’ functions I can access, including turning the windows into mirrors or a sort of blackout curtain simulation. It is only after I am alone that I realize he seemed impressed that I was able to pick up everything he told me, with minimal questions asked. At some point around midnight, I hear Jarvis announce that “Ms. Potts has arrived.” I glance out the window idly, noticing an impressive- looking jet flying off away from the tower. I do recall something about there being a helipad on the roof, but I don’t remember anything about jets.


	2. Vampires Don't Listen To Classic Rock

“Miss, it’s time to get up. Mr. Stark’s got a busy schedule, and I’m afraid you’re a victim of it.”  
“Oh, Jesus, what time is it even-”  
“Nine A.M., miss.”  
I turn my head to the window, frowning. “It’s still dark outsi- AAAAUUUGHH.”  
Without warning, Jarvis un-blackouts the windows, which he must’ve done sometime after I’d fallen asleep. Nice sentiment, and all, except now I’ve been sufficiently blinded.  
But Jarvis is unfazed. “Current temperature; 78 degrees. Wind speeds up to 5 miles per hour, currently 2. Probability of rain; 17%. Humidit-”  
“SHUT UP, JARVIS.”  
“... Your clothes are in the closet.”  
I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed but making no move to stand. I groan aloud. “I’m sorry, Jarvis,” I mumble into my hands.  
“It’s alright miss, I’ll just have to remember you’re not a morning person.”  
I smile in spite of myself. After another moment I push off from the bed, stumbling over to the closet. I only get as far as leaning my head on the panel, eyeing the keypad. My gaze travels upward, and I address Jarvis once again. “You got any music-playing capabilities, there, genius?”  
Smooth british accent turned smug, JARVIS’ reply is simply “Have I ever.”

“So what do you think of her?” Pepper Potts leans across the kitchen counter conspiratorially, a gleam in her eyes.  
“Jury’s out,” Tony states. “She might not even be mine.”  
Pepper pops open the pizza box that was just retrieved from the fridge. She laughs as she takes a look inside. At Tony’s obvious confusion, she spins the box around to face him. Three lonely pieces of pepperoni-and-pineapple remain. “Well, she’s at least 12% yours,” Pepper winks, adding in a low voice, “but an argument could be made for fifteen.”  
“Haha,” Tony deadpans. “Funny, but-”  
Both Tony and Pepper look up to the ceiling. More specifically, the spots where they both know the P.A. speakers hide. Sound is coming from them. Sound that definitely isn’t JARVIS. Tony identifies it first, as being of rock music decent. The music steadily grows in volume, until-  
“SHOOT TO THRILL, PLAY TO KILL, TOO MANY WOMEN TOO MANY PILLS, YEAH, SHOOT TO THRILL, PLAY TO KILL, I GOT MY GUN AT THE READY GONNA FIRE AT WILL!”  
“How in the HELL?” Tony has one of those very rare moments where he is, in fact, speechless. Pepper, however, is howling with laughter. She grips the edge of the countertop for support, fighting tears as she holds her side and shudders with the force of her giddiness.  
“At least twenty-six percent,” she shouts at Tony with a wide smile.  
Tony’s face remains shocked of expression. He walks to the elevator, just barely able to think over  
“I’M GONNA TAKE YOU DOWN! YEAH DOWN, DOWN, DOWN!”  
The elevator dings when he’s reached the top floor, newly remodeled. He hadn’t gotten round to installing new P.A. speakers here.  
“She hacked my systems?” He wonders aloud. Paypack, he supposes, for the rude awakening. Tony chuckles, recounting having a nice coffee with Pepper when, from above them, they hear the lovely screams of a woken vampire.  
The music is just barely audible from here. She must’ve had the vague impression that he, Tony, had had something to do with the unconventional alarm.  
Twenty-seven percent, maybe. Gotta give the kid points for taste.

Pepper is still at the table in the kitchen, calmly finishing off her coffee. Her fit has since died down. Now she very much wants to meet the little genius herself. She got Tony up in arms, that’s for sure. Another giggle bubbles out of her throat.  
The music begins to decrescendo. Pepper looks up just in time to see a young girl, looking to be nineteen or so, slide down the banister, air-guitaring the last few seconds of the song. Pepper brings a hand to her mouth, hiding her smile and discouraging any more laughter. The girl is wearing a white AC/DC tee, faded jeans that aren’t quite baggy yet aren’t quite skinny, and maroon Converse. Pepper, even being about twice the girl’s age, is secretly envious of the loose waves of sandy hair she sports. But as soon as she dismounts the banister, she tucks it all up into a bun that immediately begins falling apart.  
“Hi,” Pepper’s CEO alter ego kicks in with proper manners. She stands up and extends a hand to the girl. “I’m Pepper Potts. It’s so nice to meet you.”  
“Erin,” she says, shaking Pepper’s hand. “You’re the girlfriend, I’m guessing?”  
“Um. Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am,” Pepper laughs, with only a small note of awkwardness.  
“Oh, um, JARVIS sort of announced last night that ‘Ms. Potts has arrived’,” Erin imitates the system, smiling. Her English accent is spot-on.  
“Oh! Oh, yeah, haa, he does that.”  
Both women fidget, until Pepper remembers that they’re on a schedule. One that’s getting tighter by the minute. “Tony’s upstairs, if you want to…”  
“Oh, yeah, ‘bring-your-maybe-kid-to-work day’.”

“One of us has to change,” Tony Stark announces. I’ve just emerged from the elevator.  
“Neither of you has the time,” Pepper states firmly.  
I walk up to Stark, who’s seated at the bar. A scotch glass sits a few inches from his hand. I sit down next to him, trying not to laugh. We’re both sporting AC/DC band shirts, though Stark has a long sleeves underneath, pushed up to his elbows.  
“Well, guess we’ll just have to get sued by Who Wore it Better,” he shrugs.  
“It helps that you’re a millionaire worth billions,” I reply. We stand, following Pepper out to the roof. A helicopter awaits us, blades already set into motion. The pilot nods at Stark, smiles at Pepper, and sends a wave my way. I return it with a shy smile.  
“Shotgun!” I shout, running up and hopping into the seat next to the pilot.  
“Wha- hey, my seat, I always sit there, this is not okay.” Stark isn’t talking to anyone in particular, but Pepper answers him. “Thirty-two percent.”  
“That’s an awfully big leap, Pepper, I’m not sure I agree with your math.”  
“I think my math is flawless.”  
“Twenty-six all the way to thirty-two over shotgun? Really?”  
They continue squabbling over God-knows-what once in the chopper. I spend the ride looking out the window, occasionally asking the pilot things like “Woah what’s that”, or just talking about how long he’s been flying. We’re in the air for a couple hours, travelling over the Atlantic. Eventually, a large ship looking thing pops up into view, and we start the descend.  
A man in a suit, with some badass-looking shades is waiting for us. He seems undeterred by the gusts caused by the chopper, even when his tie whips up and hits him in the face.  
“Phil!” Pepper leans out of the helicopter to wave.  
“Agent,” Stark says curtly. He gets out of the chopper, motioning me to follow. I oblige. Pepper remains seated. At my questioning look, she leans out once more. “I’ve gotta be in D.C.,” she shouts over the still-spinning blades.  
“Oh,” I yell back.  
“It was nice meeting you, Erin!” The helicopter starts to take off. I wave goodbye, turning back to the Agent Phil guy and Stark.  
“Hello,” I greet the agent. “Are you like, FBI or something?”  
He smiles, shaking his head and extending his hand. “Phil Coulson, agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.”  
“Big into handshakes, around here,” I mumble. Stark, who stands next to me, chuckles.  
“We should head inside,” Agent Phil intones.   
“C’mon, shortstack.” I roll my eyes at the nickname, but I’m too busy watching the water churning at the side of the ship. “What’s happening?” I ask, awed.  
“Hm.” Stark leans over a bit for a better view. "It would seem that we're gonna be flying in a minute or two, here."  
"Holy-" I make no move to, well, move. I'm hypnotized by the large, spinning, fanlike appendages now fully out of the water. There's two on this side of the ship, so I'm assuming there's two on the other.   
So it's an... Airship?  
"It's gonna get a little hard to breathe in a minute," a female voice shouts over the fans. Sure enough, this thing is rising out of the water, and into the air.  
"Yeah, exhibition's over. C'mon, copy cat." Stark's probably referring to the matching shirts. We turn around to meet a tall redheaded woman. She smiles, nodding her head at me. "Natasha Romanoff."   
I shake her hand, as well. "Erin, last name under scrutiny." Stark scoffs at that.   
"So we've heard," Natasha says, raising an eyebrow at Stark. He rolls his eyes as we head inside.  
There's a room at what must be the front of the airship that Natasha and Agent Phil lead us to. Huge windows, a sort of window shield, look out ahead of us. It's nothing but blue sky and clouds. People are working on computers, sifting through pictures and video feeds. I lean over to Stark, giggling. "That man is playing Galaga," I point out in a whisper.   
But Stark's eyes are on a different man, who has just entered this control room of sorts. And that guys eyes- well, eye- are on me. He doesn't look pleased.   
"And what, might I ask, is she doing here?" He doesn't sound overly pleased.  
"Nick, my man, this is Erin Last Name Under Scrutiny." Stark claps a hand on my shoulder, causing me to jump slightly. "She might be my biological blood, but she's definitely a level of genius slightly below my own, so I figured we could use another English speaker around here."  
"And we know this how?" A lot of sass for a man in an eyepatch.  
"Well, like I said, we don't actually know if she's mine yet, Pepper says thirty-two percent, I question her math-" So that's what all the argument about percentages was. "- but they're running tests as we speak. Extensively."  
Nick makes a face that is almost as pleasant as burning at the stake must be. "I meant, and you damn well know I meant, how do you know she's of any use here?"  
"She broke JARVIS." A few impressed noises come from various places in the room.  
"I didn't break him," I protest.  
Stark glances down at me. "Broke his spirit, maybe. He's sensitive."  
At this Nick chuckles a little, though it's still tinged with anger. "And how'd you manage that," he addresses me now.  
"Um, well, AC/DC. Shoot to Thrill. Nine in the morning."  
"How'd you even get enough access to do any of that," Stark butts in curiously.   
"My closet."  
Several people who must've been listening to the whole exchange laugh, including Nick. He closes the distance between us, and shakes my hand. This handshake feels important, somehow. Stark does an impression of a girly gasp. Must be.  
"Director Nick Fury. I like your style."  
"Oh, um, thanks?" It comes out as a question without me meaning it to, displaying how nervous I am.  
"Nobody's ever pulled one over on Mr. High and Mighty, genius-wise." To Stark, he says "I give her thirty-six."  
I can feel the blood rush to my cheeks, even though the comment wasn't meant for me.


	3. Secret Handshakes

“Time to meet the team,” Stark claps his hands together behind me. I’ve been challenging the man playing Galaga for the last hour. We’re tied.

“Busy,” I say in a clipped tone, fighting off another wave in the game.

My chair is whipped away from the desk, the wheels protesting almost as loud as me. Meanwhile on the computer screen, I die. Galaga Man laughs. I make a face at him, mouthing “next time”. He gives me a thumbs up and a smile, minimizing the game and pulling up the work he’s probably supposed to be doing.

“This better be worth the loss of pride and dignity,” I sigh, following Stark down a long hall peppered with agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Oh, you’re not gonna want to miss this.”

He’s irritatingly cryptic the rest of the short trip, fending off all my questions.

“Stark!” I exclaim, exasperated.

He stops. “Do you really call me Stark?”

“Well… Yeah. What else am I supposed to call you?”

“Kid, you’re like, twenty.”

“And?”

“Tony.”

“You might be my dad. ‘Tony’ sounds a little weird.”

He considers this. “Touche, I suppose. Moving on.”

A sharp turn brings us into a room that’s in no particular shape. Sort of circular, sort of rectangular. Four figures stand around a table. I recognize one of them as Natasha Romanoff. She greets me with a nod. Another, I see, is Nick Fury. He just stares. How friendly.

“Erin, Hair-Color-to-Match-her-Attitude, as you know,” Tony says in an official tone. Natasha throws him a look, which he easily ignores. “Erin, Angry Pirate Man, as you also know.” Director Fury just scoffs.

Stark points out the other two figures with a sweep of his hand. “Erin, Not-So-Little Green Monster with anger issues. Anger Issues, Erin.”

“Bruce Banner, pleasure to meet you.” Banner is middle aged, and his tone is quiet, unassuming. He smiles, but it looks like it requires effort for it to look friendly, rather than sarcastic. His attire is also unassuming, and a little rumpled. He, too, throws a look at Stark, but laughs lightly.

“Please, the pleasure’s mine,” I gush. “Huge, huge fan. I actually based my freshman year science project off of your work with gamma rays,” I trail off, embarrassed.

Banner makes a noise like he’s mildly impressed. “And how’d that go for you?”

“Rather well, actually. I used a laser pen and an assortment of fruit.” Both Banner and Tony chuckle. “Limited resources,” I say softly.

“Oh!” Tony exclaims. “Almost forgot. Ladies and gentlemen, mostly just Erin, it is almost my pleasure to introduce the Capsicle himself-”

“Steve. Rogers.” The tallest of the bunch, and the most well-built, cuts off Stark before he can finish whatever belittling intro he came up with. "Killjoy," Stark mutters.

"Cap-Captain America?" I stop myself from going slack-jawed as I gaze at him in awe.

Steve Rogers' smile is the warmest I've seen since arriving at Stark Tower. "'The man out of time'- that's me." There is a small note of bitterness to his tone, but he overshadows it by walking up to me and offering his hand. I take it numbly. He traps my hand between both of his, shaking lightly.

"To business, then, with introductions aside," Director Fury taps the table. It comes to life, showing images and blueprints and long texts. An agent I hadn't noticed in the corner speaks up. "Sir, I don't think she's got clearance...?" Meaning me. Oh. Fury waves a hand at her without looking. "Considering the circumstances and the fact that supposedly she's here to help, Agent, I think she's fine, but thank you." The agent bows her head briefly, stepping back to the sidelines.

I hover outside of the circle around the table, though, uncertain. Steve looks back and notices me. He reaches out and encircles my wrist with his fingers, tugging me to stand between him and Natasha.

Director Fury is saying something about something called the Tesseract. Next to me, Steve Rogers tenses. I tug on the sleeve of his bomber jacket. "You've seen it before, haven't you?" I don't say it like a question.

Fury stops talking. Everyone turns to Steve as he answers me. "It's not necessarily HYDRA tech, but they were using it to create weapons unlike anyone has ever seen, especially during the World War II era. So, yeah, I've come in contact with it."

"Well, a few days ago, Loki was after it. And he damn well got it." Fury continues.

"Thinks he's cool 'cause he's a god," Tony whispers to me, air quoting 'god'.

"Was there a summer reading assignment I missed?" I murmur.

To my left, Steve chuckles. To my right, Tony pulls a small object out of his pocket and passes it to me behind his back. I rub my thumb over it, feeling a cool metal piece sticking out of one end. It's a flash drive. I tuck it into my back pocket, making a mental note to get my hands on a laptop later. I wish I would've brought mine.

After that I kind of zone out, picking up the highlights of the conversation. Once dismissed, Fury says we can basically do whatever.

On my way back down the hall to demand a Galaga rematch, somebody calls my name.  I tense, whirling around. Steve Rogers jogs the few feet left between us. "I want to show you something," he says. "I think you'll like it."

I hesitate, not sure what he means and wary of the glint in his eyes.

"C'mon," Steve grins, grabbing my wrist once again. "Trust me. It's cool."

 


	4. Black Tie, White Gloves

"Steve, where are we going?"

"Didn't I ask you to trust me? You'll love it, I swear."

Captain America is leading my by the wrist to an undisclosed location, on a giant airship, which is also housing a top secret agency, The Hulk, a former Russian assassin, and Iron Man, I muse. Guess how many times in your life you'll get to say that one, Erin.

We finally stop in front of what looks to be a locker room of sorts. Steve casts another grin-filled glance at me, stepping inside. It's not that dark, but the light from the doorway casts eerie, irregular shadows. An open display case is directly across the room from the door. The rectangle of light illuminates its contents.

"Woah," I breathe. He was totally right. I am loving this. "Is that really-"

"Yep. A bit modernized, of course. Original shield, though. Rarest metal on Earth."

"Vibranium."

Steve chuckles. "Know your stuff, do you?"

I look up at him. "Actually that's about all I know. I mean, my uncle had some of the old comics, but I'm fairly certain that's all just a little bit embellished."

"Little bit," he smiles.

I gaze in silence upon the Captain America suit. Looks comfy, oddly enough. I love the shade of blue they used.

"What's it made of?"

Steve doesn't answer right away. When I look up at him again, there's a pained expression staining his face. Like he's reliving old memories that he'd rather forget.

"Steve? You okay?" I touch his forearm lightly. He snaps back to reality almost instantly. "I don't know what it's made of," he admits. "I'm sure if I asked, I wouldn't understand." He doesn't address his zone-out episode. I take the hint, and don't ask again.

A few more moments of silence go by, before an announcement comes over hidden speakers.

"Avengers, to the control room."

"I'm gonna just go ahead and tag along as though I was invited," I say idly. Steve nods.

He doesn't wait for me to follow when he leaves the locker room, but I do. I allow some distance between us, though, well aware he needs some space. For the first time I consider how hard it must be for him, being the man out of time. Everything he knew, everyone he cares for, is back in 1945. You don't stop caring about somebody just because they're seventy years away, either. For Steve, the memories are still fresh. The pain from being ripped away from your life and forced to go on in another... I admire his strength, but I do not envy him it.

"Loki has been spotted." Fury is saying. "A black tie event in Germany." Fury turns to me, as does every eye in the room. It'd be best if we could send in someone he's not familiar with. Somebody to maybe gather a little intel on what he's doing before we send in the big guns." My blood turns to lead in my veins, weighing me down.

"Can you do that, Erin?"

"I-" I stutter, blushing with embarrassment.  "Um."

"Wait a second," Tony Stark speaks up, standing up as well. "She has roughly a thirty-nine percent chance of being my next of kin. I feel like I have a thirty-nine percent fatherly duty to say I don't think this is a good idea. Its harebrained, frankly. You can't send in a kid against an ego that extensively large."

"She's not a kid, Stark," a female voice sounds. "We can send her in with comms. I'll tell her what to do. She won't be alone, and this is a rare chance to catch up to him a little bit."

Tony opens his mouth to argue. I cut him off. "Look," I say, a little louder than I meant to. "If I'm not a kid, which I'm not, thanks, I can make my own decisions." I take a breath, not believing what I'm about to get into. "I'll do it."

Natasha produces a dress for me to wear. For some reason, I find I'm not surprised she’s got one, but it is a pleasant shock to find out we’re the same size. She's got matching heels, too. We ride a cargo plane of sorts down to Germany, landing on a rooftop. During the flight, Natasha did my hair up into a simple twist. She also helped me fit a small comms unit into my ear. The pendant on my necklace, she tells me, has a small camera.

And so I enter the party. Four years of high school German classes come back to haunt me. In my earpiece, Natasha instructs me to make as much polite conversation as possible, but keep each encounter to five minutes max. I'm constantly scanning the room for signs of Loki. I saw a picture of him earlier, before the flight. I couldn't help but think he was sort of handsome.

For a bad guy.

Two minutes and forty-two seconds into a discussion of Swedish spices with a German ambassador, my eyes are inexplicably drawn to the glamorous marble staircase winding up the other side of the room. An even more glamorous sight graces the last few steps. Man-heels stalk purposefully across the floor.

“He’s here,” I say under my breath.

“Oh, you are american?” The ambassador smiles reflexively, out of politeness. He’s confused, too, I can tell. I would be too, I mean modesty aside, my german accent was fairly exquisit.

“Stay,” Natasha directs. I jump a little.

“geht es ihnen gut?” The ambassador places a silken-gloved hand on my shoulder lightly, which only makes me jump again. “Ja,” I say hurriedly. My heel drags a little when I turn quickly, too quickly, trying to get away.

“Steady there.” A man’s voice, silkier than the ambassador’s glove, catches me before I make a scene with my stumble. My face is pressed into his scarf, one of his hands at the back of my neck. The other, the small of my back.

All the blood in my body backtracks to my heart, speeding it up and freezing my fingers and toes. I force my fingers to uncurl from the lapels of the man’s coat. Force my head away from his chest. Force air into my December lungs, freeing a small “Oh.”

He smiles like the devil; deceptively inviting, mischievous, and with false warmth. “Are you alright, young one?” He asks once I’ve managed to right myself. His attire shows no sign of my fall. Still, though, he smooths his shirt. As though smoothing away traces of my disgrace.

“I’m fine,” I mumble. One of my hands goes to the back of my neck nervously. The devilish man taps his golden cane on the stone floor lightly, and smiles again. “Very good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, young one, I’ve got business to take care of elsewhere. Forgive my hurried escape.” A quick bow, a righting of his scarf, and he’s gone.

“Yeah. Um. Definitely here.”

“Alright, Cap, you’re up.” Natasha flips a switch, opening the hatch of the plane. “You know what to do?”

She needn’t have phrased it as a question. Of course he, Steve Rogers, the great ‘man out of time’, knew what to do after all these years of soldier’s blood building up in his veins. He fastens his mask, throws the shield over his shoulder, hears it click into place on his back, and jumps.

“He never does use a parachute, does he?” Phil Coulson’s admiration is palpable even if his presence is not.

“In all fairness, he hasn’t really got time for a safe landing today, Phil.”

Nat puts her feet up on the steering mechanism of the plane, after having thrown it into autopilot. She pantomimes Loki’s theatrical speech mockingly as it comes over the comms. Gathering from Erin’s panicked gasps and shrieks, somebody’s died. For a moment, what’s left of Nat’s conscience worries at how casual she is about the deaths of innocents these days. But, she tells herself firmly, at least her mind knows when to stand up and fight for innocence, even if her heart has long since grown as cold as a Soviet winter.

Today, though, she leaves the fighting to TestosterTony and Mr. Freedom.

“You know, the last time I was in Germany and saw a man standing above everybody else, we ended up disagreeing.”

Steve hears a gasp of relief ring out. Unfortunately, so does Loki. The Asgardian points with his golden scepter to the decorative hedges off to the right of him. “Emerge, child.”

Slowly, a young woman stumbles out into the open. Steve fights the hitch in his throat. Erin. She holds Natasha’s strappy heels in one hand, the hem of her silver dress in the other. Her hair is a mess. Even from this distance, the Captain can spot twigs and leaves from the hedges sticking out every which way.

“Young one,” Loki beckons Erin forth with a gentle smile. About as gentle as a bloodthirsty shark. Erin’s wide green eyes flick over to the Captain and back to Loki. The Asgardian catches the pained recognition in Steve’s eyes and, upon pairing it with the helpless plea in Erin’s gaze, breaks his gentle facade. “Nay, young avenger.”

Erin halts, attempting to backpedal out of there. “Come!” Roars Loki.

Her feet move to a different beat than the rest of her. “Steve,” she cries, unwillingly tucked under Loki’s arm.

“Let her go.” Steve measures his words carefully.

Loki gestures with a wide sweep of his scepter the crowd still bowed before him. “Or?” He jives.

“Or-”

But he doesn't get to finish his threat.


End file.
